‘I know,’ said I.
‘You’ll find your stock of food and water stowed close against that timber, shored and hidden by a coil of rope.’ He opened his chest and handed me a knife for cutting tin. ‘You’ll want this,’ said he, ‘for the canned grub; it’s mostly soup and bully. You’ll find a pannikin for the water. I’ll visit you as often as I can. Have you a watch?’
‘No. I’m a stowaway. I have run away in poverty and must act the part. Keep this for me, Will,’ and I gave him what money I had.
‘The cook’s mate will be up and down for coal,’ said he, pocketing the money. ‘You’ll get light when they lift the hatch, then you’ll hear voices and see people. Shrink out of sight. Lie small, or all this trouble will have been for no good.’
‘If it should happen that Tom’s not one of them, you’ll contrive to let me know before we’re out of the Channel?’
‘Trust me, old girl.’
‘If he is one of them, you’ll let me know when it will be safe to come out of hiding?’
‘Trust me there, too.’ He put his head out to take another look at the decks, and then said: ‘You’ll have to fib, Marian, when you’re brought out. I’m sorry, but it must never be known that I’ve had a hand in hiding you. You will say, when questioned—and it won’t be far from the truth, either—that you bribed one of the Deptford riggers to provision you. If they find the bottles and the tinned stuff, they’ll go into the matter closely. We may contrive that they shan’t find anything; if they do, your yarn must be called “The Rigger Corrupt; or, The Lie and the Lumper.” Now wait.’
He went into the forecastle and returned. ‘The coast’s clear. Come along!’
I followed him instantly. It was but a step from his cabin to the forecastle entrance. The gloomy interior was empty and silent. Betwixt the giant windlass and the hawse-pipes were stretched the massive links of the chain-cable. I heard the tramp of a few soldiers overhead, marching to and fro to keep themselves warm.